He starts off well --- "Holiday eating is like holiday sex: nowhere near as exotic as you think it's going to be but just as risky. You can pick up a dose of something very nasty doing both. My parents, siblings and I still talk fondly of the violent food poisoning we acquired in some dodgy cantina on Ibiza. We were all taken out by it, one by one, within hours. Oh, how we laughed."
He continues to make an astute remark: "These things happen, of course - but they carry such significance on holiday because our expectations are so damn high. We insist that everything be wondrously lovely and this makes us behave very oddly indeed where food is concerned. The meal at the end of a day is an expression of who we are, of how we like to imagine our true selves to be."
But then his not-so-sub-conscious envy of all who have the good fortune to come to this part of the world to sample the gastronomic delights -- and disasters -- of a foreign and different culture, bubbles to the top and forms an unsightly and distasteful scum which completely covers any other possible tasty bits that may still have been underneath -- and as much as I tried to skim it off, hoping to reveal something that would reveal a tongue-in-cheek soupcon of dry humour, even if somewhat twisted, there was none. Just a bitter brew -- with a strong flavour of sour grapes.
"After some rigorous research, I have been able to sort the modern British gastro-traveller into five distinct, and equally irritating, categories. And they start with ...
1. The Dordogne Bore
Dordogne Bores have been holidaying in crumbling gites around Bergerac for the last two decades. They insist on calling it Périgord, and throw around words like 'paysanne' and 'terroir' to bolster their foodie credentials. They also claim to have a handful of their own 'secret' little places where they go to eat; restaurants so far off the beaten track that their location is known only by 23,000 other people from Dorking, Guildford and Cheltenham.
What the DB will never recognise is that every single restaurant in the region serves exactly the same bloody food: duck confit, foie gras, more duck confit, herb omelettes, duck confit and more duck bloody confit. What's more, 85 per cent of the restaurants will serve mediocre versions of these dishes, though the DB will either not notice or not acknowledge this. Usually this is because they are plastered on cheap wine, arguing that you don't have to spend big money 'down here' to get good wine. This, too, is nonsense. No matter; they will praise the 'civilised' French attitude to drinking, while failing to recognise that France has one of the highest rates of alcohol-induced liver disease in Europe.
Most likely to be found in: the Dordogne, natch; the Lot and Garonne; Tuscany.
2. The Authenticity Addicts
The AA is convinced that only by eating exactly what the locals eat can they really connect with the culture they are visiting. This means they end up consuming some of the nastiest food items ever devised, though they will always claim to really, really like them: stews made from goat intestines; braised cow's udder; pressed pig's ear in vinegar. What the AA fails to recognise is that renowned local dishes like these are almost always the product of poverty, and therefore generally more a matter of necessity than tastiness.
Most likely to be found in: India; China; Thailand; and the more wretched, typhus-sodden corners of the former Soviet Union.
3. The Anything-with-a-View Crew
Everybody knows that the worst restaurants in any fishing town are the ones right on the water, where the smell of food is undercut by the foul stench of the stagnant sea-bilge lip-lapping at the harbourside. The owners of these prime pitches know that the punters will come solely for the location, so they don't have to worry about the quality of the food, plus they can also charge the suckers roughly double what those places a street back are charging.
The AWAVC will happily leave the beach at five in the afternoon to drive two hours into the mountains to this 'fabulous little bistro with the most fantastic view of the sunset', forgetting that, after the first half hour, the sun will have indeed set and that they will then be eating their mediocre dinner in total darkness.
Most likely to be found in: the Greek islands; Provence; Sardinia.
4. The Gastro Tourist
The GT regards a holiday as an eating opportunity, and time spent on the beach between lunch and dinner as an irritating distraction. The GT needs only one holiday read - the Michelin Guide, and will tick off restaurants as they go. But few of the meals they pay astronomical sums for will meet with their approval, as the GT has shockingly high standards and cannot be conned by gastronomic smoke and mirrors.
Most likely to be found in: Burgundy; around Lyon; northern Spain near San Sebastian; Catalonia.
5. The Market Kings
Market Kings stay in villas or gites and never eat out because, as they insist, loudly and often, 'really, why would you when the produce in the markets here is so fabulous, I mean look at the tomatoes nothing like the flavourless rubbish you get back home and the peppers are so sweet you could eat them for dessert. Here try some of the bread - it's made by a local man who's 103, blind, incontinent and crippled by arthritis but he's still got the touch ...'
The MK gets up every morning at six to go to the local village to buy their produce (even though exactly the same stuff is available at half the price at Carrefour nearby).
Most likely to be found in: Tuscany; Dordogne; Provence."
The Observer Food Monthly would do well to send Mr Rayner on one of our excellent Relocation Orientation courses at the Chateau Lalinde before allowing him to write another article about something he knows so little about or on which he holds such prejudiced -- or should I say, 'jaundiced' views; and Jay Rayner would do well to forget about the frissons of 'risky sex' in Ibiza and rather come enjoy a heavenly few days in -- yes! the Périgord, also known as the Dordogne, and soon officially to be known as Dordogne Périgord -- where we will initiate him into the true pleasures of life -- which I can guarantee will exclude anything boring, but include a fair few pleasurable hours of fine dining with interesting people and stimulating conversation.
POST SCRIPT: See Jay Rayner's response in comments below.
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